Zia
Day Thirty. Portal day. The words mean nothing now.
I wake to Zkari's mouth between my legs, his forked tongue working my clit while two fingers curl inside me. This is how he wakes me every morning now. Says pregnant females need regular orgasms to maintain proper hormone balance. I don't argue with the science.
“Morning,” I gasp, hand finding his head, holding him in place.
He doesn't respond with words, just pushes a third finger inside while his tongue vibrates against my swollen bundle of nerves.
My pussy clenches around his fingers, already wet, already ready.
Twenty-three days since our first breeding and my body stays in constant state of arousal.
Not the desperate torture of the tonic's initial effect, but genuine need for him specifically.
The orgasm hits quick and sharp, making my back arch off the furs.
My belly, swollen with his offspring, rises like a moon.
I can feel movement inside, the constant shifting of whatever grows there.
Twins at least, maybe more. Vorthak pregnancies are faster than human, and at thirty days I look six months pregnant.
“Good,” he approves, withdrawing his fingers slowly. “Female responsive this morning.”
“Female is responsive every morning,” I point out, already reaching for his breeding cock.
Both cocks emerged while he was pleasuring me, but I focus on the breeding one. Even though I'm already pregnant, my body craves it specifically. The ridges, the knot, the fullness only it can provide. My pussy clenches just looking at it.
“Need you,” I tell him, spreading my legs wider.
“Demanding,” he observes, but moves between my thighs.
The first push gives me five ridges at once. My pussy has been permanently reshaped by twenty-three days of daily breeding, taking him easily now. The stretch still makes me gasp, but with pleasure not pain. Each ridge drags against spots that make my eyes roll back.
“More,” I demand, pulling him deeper with my legs.
The remaining four ridges push inside with his next thrust. Completely filled except for the knot, which already presses against my entrance. My pussy produces a flood of lubrication, preparing for what it knows is coming.
He fucks me slow and deep, each thrust deliberate. This isn't the desperate breeding of our first seven days or even the urgent matings of the second week. This is comfortable, familiar, perfect. Our bodies know each other completely now.
“Want your knot,” I tell him, clenching around his ridges.
“Greedy female,” he says, but I can feel it swelling.
Three thrusts later it pops inside, locking us together. Not for hours like those first times, but still long enough. Twenty to thirty minutes usually, sometimes longer if he's particularly worked up. His seed floods into me, adding to what's already there, to what's been there for weeks.
“Portal opens today,” he mentions casually as his cock pulses inside me.
“I know.”
“Noon.”
“I know.”
“Female not curious?”
I clench around his knot, making him groan. “Female is busy being bred. Again. As she will be tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.”
His tail wraps around my thigh, possessive and pleased. We don't talk about the portal again. There's nothing to discuss. My choice was made when I walked into his territory asking to be bred. Everything since has just been confirmation.
When his knot releases, I push him onto his back and straddle him immediately. His secondary cock wraps around my waist while I sink onto his breeding cock, taking all nine ridges in one smooth motion.
“My turn,” I announce, starting to ride him.
This is our routine now. He wakes me with his mouth, breeds me slow, then I ride him to my own satisfaction. After that comes breakfast, then often a third mating if we're both in the mood, which we usually are.
“Belly getting bigger,” he observes, hands spanning my swollen stomach. “Offspring growing well.”
“Feels like they're fighting in there,” I tell him, gasping as a particularly strong movement makes itself known. “Constantly moving.”
“Strong offspring. Fighters like their mother.”
I lean forward to kiss him, the angle making his ridges drag perfectly against my g-spot. The orgasm builds slow, and I ride it out while staring into his amber eyes. Twenty-three days of this and I still want him desperately. Still need him filling me daily.
The knot catches on my entrance and I bear down, forcing it inside. The lock is immediate, his seed flooding me again. Unnecessary for breeding but necessary for my sanity. My body needs this, needs him, needs the confirmation of being claimed daily.
“Mine,” he growls, hands tightening on my hips.
“Yours,” I agree, then add what I always add: “And you're mine.”
“Always.”
We stay locked for fifteen minutes this time, me slowly riding him while his knot prevents any real movement. Just small circles, tiny shifts that make us both groan. When it finally releases, I'm reluctant to let him go.
“Breakfast,” he insists, lifting me off him. “Female needs food. Offspring need nutrients.”
He's become obsessive about feeding me. Brings me the best cuts of meat, the ripest fruits, water from the clearest streams. I've gained weight beyond the pregnancy, my body finally recovering from seven days of tonic-induced starvation followed by seven days of constant breeding.
We eat in comfortable silence, naked and covered in each other's fluids. The den has been rebuilt since the shadow cat attack, stronger than before. The walls reinforced, the entrance narrower. A proper nest for offspring.
“Storm coming,” he observes, nostrils flaring.
I smell it too. My senses have sharpened during pregnancy, picking up changes in air pressure, in pheromones, in the chemical composition of the world around me. Another gift from carrying his young.
“Good,” I say. “Like fucking during storms.”
His cocks both pulse at that, already starting to emerge again. My pregnancy has made him even more attracted to me, more possessive, more eager to breed even though the breeding is complete.
“Female insatiable,” he comments.
“Female available,” I correct. “Mount me.”
He doesn't need more invitation. Pushes me onto my hands and knees right there by the remains of breakfast. His breeding cock finds my entrance without guidance, pushing inside with one smooth thrust. All nine ridges at once, making me cry out.
This position is harder with my belly so swollen, but I love it anyway. Love the weight of him over me, the depth he achieves, the primal nature of being mounted. His tail wraps around my thigh while his secondary cock finds my ass, pushing inside without ceremony.
“Both holes,” I gasp. “Fuck, yes. Both.”
He sets a brutal pace, the storm's arrival seeming to trigger something primitive in him. Or maybe it's the approaching noon, the knowledge that the portal will open soon and I still won't leave. That I'll choose him again simply by not moving from this position.
Thunder rolls overhead as his knot swells. I push back against it, desperate to be locked, to be filled, to be claimed again as I am every day. It pops inside just as the first rain hits the den's roof, and his seed floods me as lightning illuminates everything.
“Breeding in storm,” he says against my neck. “Good fortune for offspring.”
“Everything's good fortune according to you,” I laugh, then gasp as he pulses inside me again.
We fuck through the storm's arrival, still knotted when noon approaches.
I know because I can feel it, some change in the air that signals the portal's formation.
The same sensation from thirty days ago but interpreted differently by my transformed body.
Then it meant potential escape. Now it's just background noise.
“Portal's opening,” I mention casually, clenching around his knot.
“Female going to look?”
“Female is busy being bred. Again.” I push back against him. “Fill me fuller. Want my belly bigger.”
He laughs, that grinding sound I've grown to love. His cock pulses, giving me what I asked for even though we both know it's unnecessary. I'm already carrying as many offspring as my body can handle. But the breeding continues because we both need it, both want it, both choose it daily.
The portal forms somewhere out in the jungle, tears reality for thirty minutes, then closes. I don't see it. Don't care. I'm exactly where I want to be - knotted on alien cock while storm rages outside and life grows inside.
When his knot finally releases, I'm reluctant to move. But the offspring are active, kicking and shifting, demanding attention. I press my hand to my belly, feeling them respond to touch.
“Active today,” I observe.
“Know their mother is being bred. Offspring recognize mating sounds, respond to hormones.”
“Really?”
“Maybe.” He pulls me against his chest, both of us lying in the furs while rain pounds above. “Or maybe just active because growing strong.”
We lie together through the storm's peak, his hand on my belly feeling the offspring move. Sometimes they kick hard enough to see from outside, my skin distorting with the force of it. Each time makes him purr with satisfaction, proud of what we've created.
Eight families safe now. Hadad's kids, Kowalczyk's baby - they'll all get what they need. Death benefits paid because I took the deal instead of court martial. Mission accomplished.
“You think of before,” Zkari observes. He's learned to read my silences.
“Sometimes.”
“Regret?”
“No. Did what I came to do. Saved who I needed to save.” I trace the scars on his chest. “Just happened to find something for myself too.”
“Female came for others?”
“Came because I had to. Stayed because I chose to.”
He purrs at that, understanding choice even if he doesn't understand Earth's complexity.
“Twenty-three days since shadow cats,” I mention, moving past the topic.
“Good fight,” he agrees, finding my matching scars. “Female fought well. Killed clean.”
“We fought well together.”
“Yes. Will teach offspring to fight same way.”
The thought of teaching our children to hunt shadow cats should worry me. Instead, it makes me smile. They'll be born into this world, will know no other. Half-human, half-Vorthak, something entirely new.
“Need you again,” I tell him, feeling emptiness despite having been knotted three times already today.
“Demanding female,” he says, but his cocks are already emerging.
This time we mate slow and careful, face to face, watching each other. The storm passes as his knot locks inside me for the fourth time today. Not unusual anymore. Sometimes we mate five or six times, unable to get enough of each other.
“Portal closed by now,” he mentions as his seed fills me.
“Good. Hate interruptions.”
He laughs again, cock pulsing harder. We both know I never considered leaving. The portal was just a formality, a deadline that meant nothing. My choice was made when I entered his territory. Everything since has been confirmation.
The afternoon stretches into evening with us alternating between mating and resting. My body never truly satisfied, always wanting more of him. His knot, his seed, his presence. The offspring seem to calm when we're locked together, as if they recognize their father's presence through the breeding.
“Tomorrow we hunt,” he tells me as darkness falls. “Female needs fresh meat.”
“Female needs cock first,” I correct, already reaching for him again.
“Always,” he agrees, moving between my legs. “Female always needs cock first.”
The fifth knotting of the day happens as night fully arrives. Slower than the others, exhaustion finally catching up. But still necessary. Still needed. My body won't settle for sleep without being freshly bred, without his seed warm inside me.
“Mine,” he murmurs as his knot swells.
“Yours,” I confirm. “Always yours.”
The portal is forgotten. Earth is forgotten.
There's only this - being bred daily by the mate I chose, growing his offspring, building our life in this savage world.
My body transformed not just by tonic but by twenty-three days of constant mating, of being claimed and filled and bred repeatedly until every cell knows who it belongs to.
“No regrets?” he asks as his seed floods me one last time.
“None,” I answer honestly. “Would choose this again.”
His purr vibrates through both of us, pleased and possessive.
We fall asleep still knotted, bodies locked together as they are every night.
As they will be tomorrow and every day after.
The empty ache that brought me to him replaced by constant fullness, constant satisfaction, constant need for more.
The hunter caught his prey.
The prey caught her hunter.
And thirty days later, neither wants to let go.
Don’t miss the next Alien Mate Hunt!
Run. Rage. Surrender—because in the Mate Hunt, the serpent always coils tightest.
Framed for terrorism, they gave me two choices: execution, or thirty days as alien prey.
I chose the Hunt.
Now I’m drugged, dropped on a swamp world, and forced to run from a serpentine predator who wants to make me his.
Vhaz is thirty feet of scaled muscle—venomous fangs, coiled strength, golden eyes that never lose me. He tastes my fury in the air. Tracks my rage through his toxic paradise. Finds me fascinating when I tell him exactly where he can shove his help.
But every trap snaps tighter.
Every bite leaves me weaker.
Every time his coils close, my body betrays me more.
I swore I’d never surrender.